


What Doesn't Kill You

by merrythanatos



Category: Game of Thrones (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, F/M, Graphic Description, PTSD, Past Rape/Non-con, Ramsay is His Own Warning, Strong Sansa Stark, Torture, no beta reading we die like men
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-11-19
Updated: 2020-01-23
Packaged: 2021-01-29 05:22:48
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 3
Words: 7,323
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21404878
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/merrythanatos/pseuds/merrythanatos
Summary: In a world where Tywin Lannister did not blame Tyrion for Joffrey's death, he would not have been killed, and Tommen would be his to influence as his Hand.Sansa would still have escaped from the Purple Wedding with Baelish, placing her with the Boltons in Winterfell.What kind of King would Tommen have made with his grandfather by his side? How different would Westeros be leading up to the Long Night? And how can Sansa use her knowledge of the Lannisters, her favorite of which is now King, to her advantage?Or: Sansa doesn't escape the Boltons and head to the Wall, but is rescued to find the world outside Winterfell has changed.
Relationships: Tywin Lannister/Sansa Stark
Comments: 36
Kudos: 142





	1. Storming Winterfell

**Author's Note:**

> Taking liberties with timeline and events with no particular explanation other then, multiverses man, they be crazy.
> 
> My first fic! Let me know if this story is of interest! Also, if you think any tags that aren't tagged should be applied let me know, I've only ever been on the reading tags side, not the assigning them side.

Sansa had all but given up hope. She had been the captive of the bastard Ramsay Bolton for two months and his predilection for torturing her showed no sign of waning. Last night had been particularly brutal, even if not very creative, due to something that had caused Ramsay's temper to get the best of him. Between his vulgar language and violent reopening of old wounds Sansa had managed to gather that Ramsay had fewer allies than he thought he did, and that his brash decision to kill his father was coming back to haunt him. She had no way of knowing what this information meant for her, if anything, but despite the extra soreness caused by her husband's bad mood, Sansa was quietly pleased things were not going his way.

No one came to Sansa's room during the day except to deliver her just enough food to survive another day, so when she heard loud clambering on the steps leading to her hallway her head shot up from her pillow in alarm. She registered the noise as armored men heading her way and she attempted to stand up to face the intruders with grace, but her head swirled and she was forced to slump back down on her cot. The combination of blood-loss, near starvation and pain caused her to struggle to focus on the sounds outside her door, and she barely registered a red-clad soldier wrenching it open and calling out to someone behind him.

_ What did he say? Why is the door open? No one entered, am I supposed to leave? _

Sansa briefly contemplated trying to leave through the now open door, but even as the thought passed through her mind, her eyes fluttered shut from exhaustion.

“Sansa? Sansa Stark.” Next thing she knew a vaguely familiar face hovered by the side of her bed, gently shaking her awake as he spoke her name. Sansa stared blankly at the newcomer for a moment before she realised it was a concerned Tywin Lannister.

_Gods, I must really look like shit. _

“Ty..w….anni..s.r?” Sansa managed to croak out, her eyes scrunching in confusion. The man in question huffed quietly before replying.

“The very same, my Lady. Lannister forces have taken control of Winterfell. You are safe. A maester is being brought up as we speak.”

Sansa’s mind reeled, trying to assimilate this information with what she knew of Westeros politics. The Boltons and the Freys had betrayed her family because they were in league with the Lannisters, but if the Lannisters were here overthrowing the Boltons, what did that make her? The Lannister’s enemy as a Bolton? The Lannister’s enemy as a Stark? Or, perhaps, the Lannister’s enemy as Tyrion’s wife who escaped from the capital after Joffrey’s murder? None of her options looked good. But Tywin had said she was safe, and his face showed more concern than she had thought he was even capable of, so perhaps there was a fourth option. She didn’t have enough information.

“Wha?” Sansa tried to ask, all but begging Tywin to understand her need for answers. Before he could answer, however, a gentle looking man in Maesters robes entered the room, followed closely by a pair of young soldiers carrying his medicine bag, a stack of cloth, and a basin of water.

“Away from the patient, my Lord. Give us some space here please. And privacy! You two, out! Shoo!” And with a few confident gestures from the maester, Sansa found herself shut in her room with this young maester and Lord Tywin Lannister.

“I am Maester Creylen, my Lady. You don’t look like you’re feeling too well at the moment, but not to worry, you’re in good hands.” Maester Creylen knelt by the side of the bed and held out a water flask, urging Sansa to drink while carefully propping her up with his other arm.When she had drunk her fill he spoke again.

“Now tell me, what happened here my Lady? Has a maester tended to your wounds?”

"Ramsay, he killed Maester Wolkan," Sanda gulped, and finished quietly, "for giving me moon tea."

Maester Creylen smiled kindly at her from his place by her bed, his eyes darting over her face and body, trying to assess her injuries and failing spectacularly.

"My Lady, it wasn’t your fault what happened to Maester Wolkan. We can’t change what happened now, but you are bleeding and that we can do something about. Would you be so kind as to disrobe so I can…"

The maester trailed off as Sansa seemed to deteriorate before his eyes. As he spoke, she shook her head back and forth, her arms had slowly wrapped around her torso, and she bent over herself as silent sobs violently shook her whole body. Maester Wolkan had been kind to her; yet another person she had gotten killed. Lord Lannister had said she was safe, but she was never safe, and neither was anyone around her. She didn’t want to suffer yet another humiliation at the hands of men, but what power did she have to stop it? She was so weak, so tired. She briefly wondered if she could simply pass out and will herself to never wake up again.

Tywin watched from his place across the room, where he had retreated when Maester Creylen had all but pushed him aside. He was uncomfortable when it came to emotional displays, but Sansa appeared to be more in shock than simply upset, and battle shock was something he did understand. He reapproached the distraught girl and knelt before her, holding her face gently in one hand as he spoke.

"Sansa, look at me. Breathe Sansa, breathe."

His low rumble calling her name cut through the fog, her body stopped its violent trembling as she followed his directions and took several deep breaths, focusing on his words as she leaned her face into his palm. He paused a moment, bending his head down to look into her eyes.

"Sansa, no one is going to hurt you. Maester Creylen here is going to get you all fixed up. I will be right here and will make sure no one else comes near you. And outside, five thousand of my men are guarding Winterfell. They will keep you safe. You have my word."

Sansa kept her crouched posture but her eyes were raised to meet his. She still shook her head slightly, back and forth, back and forth, but to what she disagreed Tywin could not tell.

"Sansa, once you get patched up I have a surprise for you. Someone who is anxious to see you. We visited the Manderlys on the way here, they had a young boy and his direwolf in their possession and were trying to figure out what to do with them. Naturally, we brought them home to you."

Tywin felt Sansa's breath hitch as she realized he could only be talking about one of her brothers.

"You have Rickon?" she asked, half hopeful, half despairingly.

"We returned Rickon to his home. To you. He's the young Lord of Winterfell now. He will need his family's help becoming such. I plan to have Tommen pardon your brother Jon so he can return as Rickon's regent, if you agree."

Sansa was once again overwhelmed by her conflicting emotions and the sheer amount of information she was trying to process. Now that Joffrey was dead, that makes Tommen the King, and she would not have thought Tommen to be a strong enough personality to enact major change in Westerosi politics. However, Winterfell belonging to the Starks once more meant there must have been a major shift in opinion towards the North, especially if Tywin Lannister himself was here to return the castle to them. It would make sense if the Crown thought they could control the North via the young lord, but in that case they would have appointed a man loyal to them as regent, not offer to bring Jon back from the wall to manage the powerful seat. It seemed to Sansa that the more she learned, the less she understood. She felt like the naïve 13 year old she was when she arrived in King’s Landing once again, and she didn’t relish the feeling.

“And what do you want of the North, my Lord?” Sansa managed to ask, narrowing her eyes a bit while staring straight into Tywin Lannister’s. If she hadn’t been watching so intently she might have missed it, even so she may have imagined it, but she could have sworn she saw Tywin’s eyes crinkle in genuine amusement for a brief second before his face leveled out to its passive self.

“The realm requires peace, my Lady, and peace requires a strong North. A restored Winterfell.”

Sansa’s eyes remained narrowed as she tilted her head slightly, and Tywin took it as the sign of disbelief that it was.

“Much has happened since your departure from King’s Landing, and much more is still happening. We have much to discuss, and we will have time to do so, but for now I must ask you to trust Maester Creylen to help you get well, and try to trust me to keep you safe. While I have a feeling your brother’s wild wolf might have more of your trust than I, I would not be able to separate the two of them, and I have a feeling you would not want your brother to see you like this?”

Sansa almost smiled as she shook her head at the thought; she was yearning to see Rickon and Shaggy once more, but thankful that they had not been summoned to her room. Sansa let out one last shuddering sigh before she nodded to Maester Creylen who was waiting patiently nearby. Tywin stepped back slightly to allow the maester to come closer, but did not retreat across the room as he had before, opting to stand off to the side, poised to help if the opportunity came available. The opportunity struck rather soon, as Sansa stood to take off her dress and nearly toppled over if not for both Tywin and Maester Creylen grabbing her elbows.

“Thank you,” Sansa whispered, embarrassed to be seen in such a state. Neither of the two men commented, however, as the maester helped Sansa disrobe and Tywin continued to help her stay upright. Once she was down to just her threadbare smallclothes Sansa sat down once more and staunchly refused to meet either man’s gaze. As Maester Creylen washed dried blood from her wounds Sansa found her embarrassment being replaced by a combination of numbness and a resolute refusal to be defeated. Squaring her shoulders, Sansa lifted her head and looked directly at the maester.

“You wouldn’t happen to have any moon tea, would you Maester Creylen? I’m afraid I ran out a little while ago.”

“I will make some up and bring it to you later today, my Lady,” the maester softly replied. Clearing his throat he then added, “Several of these cuts are quite infected, I’m afraid I will have to clean them with firemilk. It will burn quite badly, but I can give you some milk of the poppy first if you give me a moment.”

“No!” Sansa quietly exclaimed, placing her hand on Maester Creylen’s arm. “Please, I would rather not lose my wits. I can handle the pain, I assure you.”

That much pain and more by the looks of it, both Maester Creylen and Tywin silently thought to themselves, having seen the patches of flayed skin, the burned in brands and numerous carvings across Sansa’s scarred body. But the maester merely nodded and finished washing away the blood and grime before turning to grab the bottle of firemilk and a fresh cloth. Sansa clenched her jaw but otherwise refused to acknowledge the sting as Maester Creylen neither hurried nor dawdled cleaning out her cuts, being both efficient and thorough in the important task. Once cleaned, the maester started on sewing up the deepest of cuts, after which he spread a healing goo over each wound. It took another good while to finish the bandaging, as the bandages covered nearly her whole torso as well as parts of her arms and legs, but finally Sansa was done being tended to and was handed a fresh shift and gown that were free of blood.

“I will stop by to replace the bandages tonight, my Lady, and I will bring your tea with me then.” Maester Creylen assured her as he packed up his things. “Is there anything else you might need from me right now?”

“No, thank you Maester Creylen,” Sansa thanked him with a nod, and with that she was once again alone in her room with Tywin Lannister.

“Your brother will be in the Great Hall, and there will be food there as well. You should eat something,” Tywin gently said, not trying to rush the girl.

“Thank you my Lord.” Sansa looked up at him all courtesy and dignity, before faltering a bit and asking, “Would you be able to help me there, my Lord? I do not think I have the strength to walk that far.”

After a short pause Tywin nodded and stepped forward. In one smooth motion he swept Sansa off her feet, one arm supporting her knees and the other at her back. Sansa repressed a yelp and attempted to find a place for her arms that did not give away her complete lack of composure. She settled on one arm in her lap and one around Lord Lannister’s shoulder. Sansa was grateful for his silence, whatever it may mean, as they made their way to the great hall. It had been an age since she had seen her baby brother, and though she was looking forward to it, she found she was nervous to meet the boy he had become.

As they approached the Great Hall Tywin slowed to a halt.

“Would you be up to walking from here? You could lean on my arm if you wish,” Tywin offered.

Sansa started, looking directly at the lord for the first time since he picked her up.

“I thank you, my Lord. That would be much appreciated.”

And with that, Tywin gently set her on her feet and offered his arm.

“Shall we, my Lady?”


	2. The State of Westeros

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Sansa gets some answers

It was early afternoon when Sansa received the summons.

_ Lady Stark- _

_ I will be in the solar in the Great Keep until supper this evening. If you wish to discuss the situation of Westeros, and by extension, the North, this would be a convenient time to do so. _

_ -T. Lannister _

Upon reading the note again Sansa conceded that it was not so much a summons as an invitation. An invitation that she was inclined to accept. Sansa still had many unanswered questions, and for once it seemed the best way to get answers was to simply ask.

_ He’s in father’s solar, does he mean to reside in the Lord’s chambers then? _

Sansa shook her head, knowing that speculating would do her no good. Better to head to the solar and glean as much information as possible from the offering Tywin Lannister, heaven knows she would not rest until she had.

Sansa had barely slept a wink the night before, and though that was not anything new, she usually lost sleep due to pain and worry, not happiness and worry. On second thought, she was used to not sleeping due to worry, but at least this time she knew her little brother was okay. Sansa thought back to reuniting with her brother again; he was so wild and so angry, but he had been excited to see her and introduce her to his friend Osha. Sansa was so very grateful to Osha for taking care of Rickon all this time and felt tears well up in her eyes when Osha enveloped her in her arms upon meeting her. The three of them, and Shaggy, had spent the rest of the evening and the next morning together, telling each other their stories and rekindling the bond that time and distance had eroded. While Rickon and Shaggy were truly inseparable, when Sansa sat with them Shaggy liked to lean against her legs and rest his head on her lap while she combed her hands through his fur. The action seemed to calm both the wolf and the boy, and if Sansa allowed herself to admit it, the large direwolf made her feel at home in a way she hadn’t felt since she lost Lady.

Sansa made her way to the solar from the guest wing they were staying in while the family rooms were cleansed of the Boltons. She was much more confident on her feet now that she had sustenance in her and was no longer bleeding. Even with little sleep Sansa still felt more herself now that she was clean and her hair was no longer in tangles. She almost looked presentable, she thought, despite the too large gown and visible injuries. 

Sansa paused outside her father's solar, collecting herself before facing the Great Lion. She found she wasn't afraid of _ him _, though she probably should be. But instead she felt her lack of knowledge had her at a disadvantage. 

_ Don't blow this, we need as much information as we can get. _

Sansa took a deep breath and raised her hand to knock on the door. She was answered immediately by a muffled _ Enter _, and soon she found herself looking around a room that at once felt familiar and altogether alien. 

“Please, come in. Sit.” Tywin Lannister was sitting at a large desk facing the door, but as Sansa entered he stood and motioned her to a sitting area in front of the fire.

"I think the most efficient way to do this is to start where you left off, your departure from King's Landing. You heard Joffrey was killed, and Tommen took the throne?" 

Sansa was startled by the abrupt beginning, as Tywin had not even finished taken his seat, but she recovered enough to nod. She even found herself asking, "How is Tommen? Is he happy as King?" 

It was apparently Tywin's turn to be startled, his eyes widening and head tilting as he processed the unprecedented question. 

"There have been some... rough patches. The Tyrells demanded he marry Margaery immediately, but we managed to hold that off until he comes of age. There was a nasty business with the church attempting to control him and take over the kingdom, some man calling himself the High Sparrow. He is no longer a threat. And I sent Cersei to Dorne, to look after Myrcella. Now everything has calmed down and he has had a chance to grow into the role. I believe he is more confident than he was."

Sansa found she couldn't contain the smirk that spread across her face upon hearing Cersei had been sent away. Not to mention the amusing hypocrisy of the man in front of her criticizing others for trying to control the King. But instead of voicing these amusements she decided to dwell on a safer topic. 

"And I suppose he is glad his kittens are safe. Ser Pounce must be fully grown now."

"You know that devil cat?" Tywin scoffed. "It's a terror, but Tommen loves the blasted thing. Somehow that's what started the row with his mother that necessitated her removal, don't ask me how, I was not involved."

Sansa's eyebrows rose as she tried to imagine what that fight would consist of, but could only picture a demented Cersei foaming at the mouth at sweet Tommen while he held the tiny kitten she had known. 

"Ser Pounce was a sweet kitten, I hid him many a day in my rooms for Tommen when he was worried about Joffrey's threats." At this Sansa froze, realizing both who she was talking to and that she was now talking about the King just a moment too late. But instead of getting angry at her for her presumption to speak of his family in such a way, Tywin let out a low chuckle. 

"You are one of the few people in the kingdom who knows Tommen as anything but a King. He has always lived in his siblings' shadows, and now he has a court full of strangers vying for his favor. You have solved the mystery of his great concern for you, however, as I was not aware that the two of you had been close."

“We were not close, I was not permitted to have friends. But I suppose he and I were alike in that way. He was always kind to me.” Sansa stared into the fire as she quietly reminisced about the young boy she knew, shaking herself out of her reverie after a moment to meet Tywin’s gaze once more. “I think he will make a fine King. But, what do you mean, his concern for me?”

“Ah yes, continuing with the story,” Tywin ignored her question for now, motioning that he would get to it in time. “Cersei was convinced that Tyrion was the malefactor in her son’s death, but she has always been rather dramatic. I approached Lady Olenna and asked her who might have done it, and together we carefully wove a tale of Baelish’s guilt.”

“But Lord Baelish didn’t do it! He was busy rescuing me!” Sansa said, startled both by the accusation and her defense of the man.

“No, of course Baelish did not actually do it. The Queen of Thorns herself plotted my grandson’s murder in order to protect her granddaughter, but we were hardly going to be putting her to death now were we? So we decided that Baelish could have planned Joffrey’s murder as a distraction to get you away. He hardly helped himself by testifying that while he was not the assassin, he had married you off to the Boltons. Given their reputation he was practically admitting to being a murderous scoundrel to the whole court.”

“He knew?” Sansa whispered. Tywin nodded in response.

“The Boltons’ reputation was well established, which is why Tommen was so concerned for your well-being once everything was explained to him. At the time we had the beginning stages of a plan to reunite the North and South, but he insisted we move faster, and within a fortnight I was on my way North to investigate rumors of a living Starkling and to free Winterfell of its Bolton infestation.”

“And what is the plan for me now, my Lord?” Sansa’s voice was still low and struggled not to waver in trepidation. She had been fearless up till now, but this was the question everything had been leading up to.

“Now you are once again Sansa Stark of Winterfell. It is up to you to decide what that means.” Tywin replied coolly.

“And you are Tywin Lannister. You always have a plan for everything.” Sansa met his gaze in a silent challenge, communicating as much as trying to determine Tywin’s true intentions. At her words Tywin smirked, easily meeting her gaze.

“I did not get that reputation for nothing, you are correct. But in this case the plan was vague. We did not harbor high hopes of finding you alive, my Lady, and while I was glad to be able to provide the King with news of your survival, the plan in regards to yourself rather began and ended with, save Sansa Stark.” Sansa found herself staring at the man with wide eyes, not sure how one replies to such a statement, when Tywin quietly but vehemently added, “Your life is your own. I rather think you have earned it.”

The two sat in silence for a few moments, neither wanting to disturb the peace that had settled over the room in the past few minutes, but eventually Sansa found herself asking what she had wanted to know since the Lannister forces found her the day before.

“What is being done with Ramsay?” she croaked out.

"Ramsay Snow is being held in the dungeon until a trial can be held for him. I had thought to wait for your brother Jon to return so the Warden of the North could hold the trial." Tywin replied all matter of fact. 

"Is it completely necessary for him to be... alive? For his trial?" Sansa hesitated slightly as she asked, but not nearly as much as she once might have, considering the subject.

“My soldiers do not harm the prisoners in their care, my Lady.” Tywin replied slowly.

Sansa thought for a moment, weighing her words before making her decision.

"Might a lady visit her husband one last time, my Lord? Surely there can be no harm in that." 

Lord Tywin hummed slightly as leaned in his armchair and studied the girl in front of him. With her large doe eyes and delicate frame she was the picture of innocence, but he had met the true Sansa Stark and would not insult her by judging her thus. He nodded once.

"I will have something arranged. Meet me back here this evening and I will escort you."

Sansa took that as much as an affirmation as it was a dismissal, but in truth she was relieved for their conversation to come to an end. The two stood, and after thanking Tywin and promising to meet him later Sansa headed toward the door. As she reached it she hesitated and turned back slightly to face Tywin, but did not raise her eyes fully to meet his. 

"My Lord, if it's not too much, I was hoping… might I perhaps borrow a knife? Or a dagger?" At that she paused and met his questioning gaze where he hovered by his desk. "Just for this evening."

Tywin nodded slowly, brow arched, not taking his eyes from Sansa's face as he watched a slight expression of relief pass over it. Sansa nodded once in reply and turned back to the door, not hesitating this time as she calmly left the solar and went elsewhere to bide her time until the evening came. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you so much for your patience! This chapter was important to me because it held so much exposition and setup. Hopefully it answered all your burning questions. I have a lot written ahead, but this next chapter is completely blank at the moment. You might be able to tell where chapter 3 is going...it's not my usual topic or style, so, wish me luck!


	3. Farewell Ramsay

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Sansa does what she needs to do

Supper that evening seemed to move at a glacial pace. Sansa attempted to eat the food put in front of her, but she found herself rather distracted. And to make it all worse, everyone else seemed to be bloody enjoying themselves. Ser Jaime was engaging Rickon in conversation, drawing Osha, Sansa and even Tywin into their debates at times. And Tywin, while still not very talkative, did seem to be making an effort to be civil and not frighten her brother, which Sansa appreciated. But she could not concentrate on the food, the conversation, or her fellow tablemates as she worked out how the rest of the evening would go. She couldn’t go directly to the solar, as she didn’t want to beat Tywin there. If she went to a sitting room with Ric and Osha, how long would she have to sit before being able to excuse herself without being suspicious? But would it be worse to retire to her rooms early, only to leave again shortly after? Oh and what should she wear? She just wanted to be done with it. 

Eventually the meal came to an end and everyone excused themselves from the table. Sansa had decided to walk with Rickon and Shaggy to their sitting room but excuse herself immediately. Rickon noticed nothing amiss, not because of the nonchalant attitude Sansa was trying, and failing, to portray, but because he was a young boy, focused mainly on himself, and their only very recent reunion meant he did not know his sister well enough to recognize when something was off. And something was very off. Sansa noticed her hands shaking as she made her way to the solar to meet Lord Lannister and grasped them together in an attempt to make them stop. They did not stop. Her knees felt weak and she regretted eating what little she had at dinner given her stomach’s sudden queasiness. She stopped to lean against the cool stone wall of the hallway to give herself time to collect herself. Lord Lannister had already seen her at her worst, but she couldn’t afford to show weakness in front of Ramsay. She would not give him that victory. After a moment she took a deep breath, straightened her spine, and continued the short walk through the open door of the solar.

“Good evening, Lady Sansa.” Tywin greeted her as he stood from his desk. “If you are ready, I can escort you to the prisoner.” 

“I am ready. Did… do you have a dagger for me?” Sansa’s voice barely shook as she calmly met Tywin’s gaze. He strode over to her and withdrew his own dagger from his belt, flipping it to hand it to her handle first.

“Valyrian steel, my Lady. Should do the trick.”

Sansa took the dagger and nodded solemnly. Tywin did not offer her his arm, but instead led the way to the dungeons. As they walked Sansa considered her plan of action. Ramsay had raped her, beaten and carved her body, and torn down her spirit at every turn. Many of his methods were unavailable to her, she had no desire to rape the bastard, and she wasn’t strong enough to beat him, but she now had a Valyrian steel dagger in her hand, and Ramsay had demonstrated how to use a dagger on her body so many times she was sure she would be able to maximize his pain without killing him outright. That would be her biggest struggle, to not just stab him in the throat and watch him gurgle to death on his own blood. Perhaps she could just gouge his eyes out instead without causing him to bleed out. Sansa was aware that she should be horrified at such thoughts, but the part of her that cared was easily pushed aside as she steeled herself for the encounter.

After what was either the longest walk Sansa had ever been on, or the shortest, they arrived at the dungeons. Lord Lannister walked them straight past the red-cloaked guards to a room at the end of the hall and paused at the door, turning to Sansa.

“I took the liberty of having him moved here from his cell and restrained for your comfort.” He told Sansa in a low voice. “The guards will stay out here in the hallway, I will be in the room with you. I will not interfere without your permission, unless it appears you may be in danger. Is there anything you need?”

Sansa took a steadying breath as she considered the door in front of her. She shifted her grip on the dagger as she moved her hands to rest behind her, hiding it from view. Once she had squared her shoulders and felt as prepared as she would be Sansa returned her gaze to Lord Lannister.

“Thank you, my lord. I believe I am ready.” Her voice was unwavering, and as steely as the look in her eyes. Tywin nodded once and opened the door, ignoring its occupant and stepping into the room just enough to hold it open for Sansa before closing it behind her and standing guard in front of it.

“Ah, if it isn’t my little wife here to visit me! Is this a conjugal visit, Sansa? Please say yes.” Ramsay was strapped to what looked like an upright table, his arms splayed out, bound at the wrists and elbows, and his legs constrained at the ankles and thighs. He sported a black eye and looked like he was covered in a months worth of filth that he had somehow managed to acquire in a couple days. What Sansa found truly unsettling though was his manic grin and wild eyes expressing his _ joy _ at seeing her. Sansa wore an unreadable expression, showing neither revulsion nor fear, as she calmly stepped toward the man.

“You even brought someone to watch! I knew you were an exhibitionist Sansa! Or did you mean for him to join? As long as I get your mouth I’m willing to share.” Sansa stopped directly in front of Ramsay and reacted swiftly, grabbing him by the hair and pulling the dagger out from behind her back, holding it against his throat.

“I think you will find you no longer hold the cards in this relationship, _ husband. _” Sansa sneered. Ramsay’s grin didn’t falter, but something akin to fear, or at least understanding, flashed in his eyes and it was highly gratifying for Sansa to see. 

Sansa noted the shallow cut the exceedingly sharp blade had made despite her lack of pressure as she pulled it away from his throat and decided to continue to demonstrate the quality of her new dagger. Resting the dagger on one shoulder, she dragged it over his collarbone to the other shoulder, only the weight of the blade itself pressing down on his skin, and was delighted to see small beads of blood form along the thin line.

“Do you like my new dagger, husband? I dare say it’s much finer than the ones you used on me. I only hope to do your lessons justice with it.” With a flick Sansa swept the dagger over the top of his shoulder, taking a thin layer of skin with it. 

“Oh dear, but that wasn’t nearly as even as the patches you took from my back.” Sansa leaned forward and continued in a quiet, menacing tone. “It seems I may need some more practice. You don’t mind, do you?”

Ramsay’s face had transformed into a grimace in his attempt to keep the pain out of his eyes. Sansa could tell he was startled at the very least, if not afraid of what she might do to him. He knew better than anyone what he had put her through, and now the dagger was in the other hand. Sansa dragged the blade across his torso, allowing her hand to meander and varying the amount of pressure put into the slice. When she reached a point on his side that she recognized to be a non lethal point between two ribs, she suddenly pressed the tip in as hard as she could. Ramsay gasped at the sudden stab, while Sansa was pleased at how easily the blade had been buried to the hilt.

“Don’t worry yourself, _ dear, _ an injury right there isn’t quite lethal.” Sansa pulled the blade back out and wiped the blood off on Ramsay’s bare torso. “I would know, you gave me a very comprehensive anatomy education.” Once the blade was wiped clean Sansa angled the dagger and drew it down his side, taking a thick layer of skin clean off. Ramsay’s breathing was ragged as he attempted to school his features from showing his pain, but when Sansa drew the sharp edge of the knife across the freshly peeled skin he couldn’t stop a small surprised keen from making its way out of his throat.

“I don’t have the variety of resources you’re accustomed to, husband. No whips.” She swiped the dagger across his chest in imitation, “No brands.” She carved a quick and crude S on his stomach, “And no time to watch you deteriorate, your body devouring itself from the inside out as the ever growing number of injuries continue to multiply due to your body’s inability to heal itself.” Sansa continued with her wandering dagger, absently alternating between skinning and slicing. “I would regret that, if anything, but I find myself unable to wish you to survive that long.” Sansa finished with a shrug, and pulled the blade away, her arms relaxed at her side and her expression utterly emotionless. She waited until she noticed Ramsay relax ever so slightly. His muscles untensed, his grimace lessened and on his exhale she struck. Sansa had heard that an injury to the gut could be a slow, gruesome way to die, so she aimed for the lower belly and slashed Ramsay open. The Valyrian dagger made easy work of opening him up, and if Sansa had been so inclined she could have reached right in and rearranged his intestines.

Sansa was pleased to have made Ramsay finally scream in absolute agony and knew her job was finished. She stood back from her work, tilting her head to admire her work, and finally turned to walk out. Tywin opened the door for her, and she stopped as she walked through it, tilting her head so the restrained occupant could clearly hear her.

“I’m sure Ramsay would appreciate one last visit from his hounds, my lord, before they must be put down for their taste for human flesh. What do you say?” Tywin’s face was as impassive as ever at her words, but he tilted a nod to her in reply.

Once they were both fully out of the room and the door was shut firmly behind them Sansa found her feet picking up speed to get her away from such a place. She rushed down the hall, past the guards and up the stairs before leaning against the stone wall, folding in on herself. She heard Tywin speaking to the guards, arranging for Ramsay and his hounds’ last reunion, and was aware of him approaching her in the hall, but she found herself rather unable to react appropriately. She turned her head toward Lord Lannister without meeting his eyes and held out his dagger to him.

“Thank you my lord. It is, indeed, a fine dagger.”

~-~-~-~-~-~-~-~-~-~-~-~-~

Sansa felt numb; she thought nothing, said nothing, and felt nothing. Therefore she was surprised to suddenly find herself back in her room, sitting by the fire, hands still covered in blood. She looked around and saw Tywin bringing over a basin of water, a cloth thrown over his shoulder. As he set the basin down on the low table in front of her, Sansa tilted her head and observed him. Tywin’s clothes had smears of blood on his front and sleeves that weren’t there before, his face seemed more human, almost soft in nature, and his movements, while quick, were both steady and cautious. Tywin noticed her attention was on him as he sat on the sofa next to her and wet the cloth in the basin, holding it out to her. 

"My Lady, I thought you might wish to wash your hands." Tywin said calmly. 

"How did we get here?" Sansa squinted at the damp cloth in her hands as she tried to remember. "We were in the dungeons… I gave you the dagger… and now... we're in my room?" 

"A lot happened tonight. I thought you would wish to return to your room rather than hang around in the dungeon while you process it all." Tywin's voice was soothing and patient, but he found himself impatient with Sansa's lack of washing up and took up the wet cloth himself. He carefully wiped the blood from her hands, rinsing the cloth in the basin when it became too soiled. Sansa didn't even think to resist his gentle attentions, allowing him to manipulate her hands this way and that as she continued to concentrate on the missing time from her memory. 

"I don't know what happened to me. I apologize, my Lord, for the inconvenience." She said slowly, face coloring, having realized that he must have witnessed a breakdown of sorts, judging by the bloody smears her hands had obviously made on his clothing. 

"No need to apologize, my Lady." Tywin replied. "I believe tonight was somewhat cathartic for you. Hopefully it will be the starting point for you to heal, and move on." 

Sansa stared at Tywin but was simply unable to read his expression. 

"You think me weak. You think me broken" Sansa accused. 

"I think nothing of the sort, Lady Stark." Tywin's face remained impassive as he responded. 

"Then you think me a monster?" Sansa whispered after a moment.

Tywin finished cleaning her hands of blood and abandoned the rag in the basin, but kept her hand in his as he met her eyes. 

"You are not a monster, Sansa. You are a survivor." Tywin squeezed her hand before releasing it and backing away to the distance required by propriety. "No one can judge you, least of all me. We both know what I am, what I have done. Do you really think I do not understand why you needed what you needed? But unlike me, you are a good person. It is only natural for you to react strongly to such things." 

Sansa didn't know what to think. She couldn’t wrap her head around the things she had done, so she latched onto the one thing he had said that was unrelated to her.

“You think you are a bad person?” Sansa’s voice was curious and slightly dazed sounding, as she was still trying to process, well, everything. In response Tywin barked out a surprised laugh.

“Lady Stark, you have as much reason to hate me as anyone, but even my children would not describe me as a good person. Everything I have done, I have done for a reason, but that does not make me _ good_. It makes me practical, logical. It has made me powerful. But I have no illusions of people liking me, enjoying my company, etcetera etcetera.” 

Sansa seemed to consider his words carefully, and indeed she preferred to think on Tywin’s situation over her own so it was a welcome distraction.

“I can’t... forgive... what you have done to my family. But... you are helping me now for some reason. Helping _ us_. Why?” Sansa’s voice was strained as she asked what she had desperately been trying to figure out. Tywin shook his head as he considered her question.

“I should have done something to prevent your mistreatment in King’s Landing. I was fighting a war and thought myself too busy. I had hoped marrying Tyrion would provide you some protection…” Tywin paused for a moment, looking down at his hands before meeting Sansa’s gaze once more. “Your brother’s death was supposed to end the war. Your mother and good sister were never supposed to be caught up in that, their deaths served no purpose of mine. I do not expect you to forgive me, I did what I did. And now I have a chance to help the remaining Starks take back the North and stabilize the realm. I will do whatever possible to help you, and your family.”

Tywin seemed sincere, but Sansa knew better than to trust a few pretty words. The Great Lion was not known for his emotional displays or apologies, and indeed he had not apologized, but Sansa saw the emotion in his eyes that wasn’t apparent in his facial features and knew that he meant what he said. That didn’t mean she trusted him. She let out a shaky breath.

“Thank you for helping us now. For helping me.” The two of them shared a nod of understanding before Tywin made to stand up.

“Get some rest, Lady Stark.” Tywin inclined his head at Sansa and made to leave her to her thoughts.

“Goodnight.” Sansa realised her reaction was delayed when she noticed Tywin was already gone. She stared blankly at the door for a moment before returning her gaze to her hands. Where she imagined she still felt Ramsay’s blood covering them, her hands had been washed clean. She sat awake on her settee for most of the night, contemplating what she had done, who her new allies seemed to be, and just what she was going to do now. She was no closer to figuring it all out when she finally just laid down and allowed herself to pass out, but she finally felt like she might have the chance to figure it out for herself.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Alright, listen, I haven't tortured many people with Valyrian daggers so I really don't know what I'm doing here. Deal with it? Thanks for reading! A lot of the future story is written/outlined/is being worked on out of order so hopefully I don't keep you waiting as long as I did between ch 2 and 3.


End file.
